


Pinpoint

by Squeaky



Series: Gifts [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Series, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Chuck felt a slow burn of anger ignite deep in his gut. "There's lots of people who can't control their Gifts," he said slowly. "I happen to be one of them."</i>
</p><p>(Companion story to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/318827/chapters/512696">Aegis</a> by Leah (Taste_is_Sweet) and Springwoof.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinpoint

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aegis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/318827) by [Leah (Taste_is_Sweet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Leah), [springwoof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springwoof/pseuds/springwoof). 



" _Run!_ " Stackhouse had shouted as the two hideous men had hit and hit him over and over, dragging him down under a hail of fists. His eyebrow was split, his cheek cut--a deep bleeding gash on his face. As Happy watched, he lost his footing and fell, disappearing from her sight, drowning underneath a torrent of blows.

With a choked sob, she ran, teleporting out of the grip of the man who held her, out of the tent and into the field beyond. She landed at a run, taking advantage of the surprise of their captors to gain as much ground as she could before they would be on her again.

As it was, she couldn't run very fast.

The beating she had herself received had taken its toll. Her left leg was dragging behind her, her knee clicking and stabbing with every step. Her side ached.

She heard a shout behind her, the guttural roar of one of their captors, and suddenly she was surrounded. Four of them, leering and snarling at her, mouths twisted into evil, satisfied grins.

"We got ya now." One of them sneered. He reached his hand towards her, and instinctively, she stepped back.

One of them grabbed her from behind, pulling her against him, his fingers digging roughly into her bare arms. The skin of her back scraped along the harsh metal and leather of his vest. He smelled like sweat and spit and the awful metallic twang of fresh blood.

"Non!" she cried, and teleported out of his hands. Happy rematerialized too far off the ground, and landed hard, her left leg buckling underneath her. A sharp cry of pain tore out of her before she could hold it back, and she tumbled to the earth.

She watched as they turned towards her, their booted feet eating up the few yards between them. There was only seconds before they would be on her again, tearing at her clothes and hair, ready to finish what they had started in the tent.

With a groan more from fear than from the ache in her body, Happy dragged herself to her feet and tried to run. Immediately, her leg gave out and she fell again, crying out with the impact.

A heavy boot landed just centimeters from her face.

Happy fled, teleporting again, and again and again, barely rematerializing long enough to breathe. She was at the Gate in moments, shaking from pain and exhaustion.

She had never teleported so many times in a row before, and the deep cold settling into her chest let her know exactly how much it had cost her. Her sugar was burnt up, her energy was almost gone, and all her glucose tablets were in the vest abandoned in the tent, torn off by their captors. She sagged to her knees, her left one exploding with pain as it connected with the stone base of the gate. She sucked in a breath, fighting against the agony in her leg, stretching it out beside her. It eased the ache a little, enough to allow her to concentrate on the task of getting herself home.

Leaning heavily against the DHD, Happy began to press the combination for Atlantis with trembling hands. Her head was swimming, the edges of her vision blurring as she swayed. The buttons were almost too heavy for her to depress.

She nearly sobbed in relief when the Gate flashed, blue plume exploding outwards as it made contact. Her fingers were numb and fumbling as she pressed the button to trigger the code for Stackhouse's team on her GDO.

Happy had just started to stand to make a run for the Gate, when they were upon her.

She was grabbed and slammed against the ground before she could even react, her head smashing into the stone base of the DHD.

She saw stars, bright pinpoints of light that blocked out the faces of her tormentors, filling her eyes and stilling her mind. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion: her captors' fingers tearing at the remnants of her clothes, the hand pressed tightly against her throat.

A knife blade, cold and smooth as a snake slipped between her bra and her chest, slicing through the cloth. The chain of her dog-tags snapped against her neck. The fabric of her pants tore away. A boot was pulled off, leaving her foot strangely cool.

Cool, like dipping your toes in water. Water, like the Stargate….

Happy had to get home. Garret would want her to be safe

 _Lâche moi!_ she cried, and hurled herself backwards with her Gift, teleporting herself out of their grip and into the event horizon with every scrap of strength she had left.

The Stargate swallowed her whole, drowning her in darkness.

*

Sergeant Chuck Campbell absently poked his oatmeal with his spoon, watching as the new girl looked out over the mess.

The _Daedalus_ had arrived with the new recruits just the day before, and Chuck winced in sympathy as he watched her gaze around the mess in consternation. She tucked a stray piece of her blond hair behind one ear, as she searched for somewhere to sit.

He'd noticed her as soon as he'd sat down--a pretty blond girl making her way through the line-up of the cafeteria. She hadn't been with anyone, her beige-and-yellow uniform the only one in a sea of scientists marked in blue and the grey-and-black of the military.

It made her seem lonely and afraid, although she was probably neither. But it made Chuck frown in sympathy anyway. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd arrived in Atlantis; he could still remember how it felt.

She turned sideways, looking for a seat, and the red and white Canadian patch caught Chuck's eye.

That clinched it.

He sighed, putting his magazine down on the table beside him. He had planned on reading the latest copy of _Esprit de Corps_ over breakfast, enjoying a few minutes of solitude before the day began, but now it looked like that wasn't going to happen. Chuck liked his job as a Gate technician, and liked the team he worked with. Even the more moody scientists, like Zelenka and McKay were okay, once you got to know them. But it didn't mean he liked being around people twenty-four/seven. And it certainly didn't mean that he wanted to share his alone-time with a brand-new team-member, fresh off the boat.

But she looked so nervous and alone out there, holding her tray of food like a shield against the unknown, trying so hard to find even one familiar face among the sea of multicolored uniforms.

And she was Canadian, after all. Even out here in the Pegasus Galaxy, nationality still counted for something.

Chuck sighed again and thrust his hand into the air, waving it around until he got her attention.

"Over here," he called, gesturing at the seat beside him.

She nearly ran over, her face lit with a huge smile of transparent relief.

"Oh thanks!" she said, breathless as she sat down, plunking her tray in front of her. She had a bowl of granola and something that looked like yogurt mixed together, and another bowl of Pegasus Galaxy fruit, a small rainbow of blue, purple and yellow.

"Careful," Chuck said, indicating the fruit with his spoon. "That stuff tastes great, but packs a big kick."

"What?" she said, looking at her bowl, her blond eyebrows drawn down in sudden concern. She looked back at him, her blue eyes now wide with apprehension. "What kind of kick?"

"Sugar rush," Chuck supplied. "Great stuff, but you'll be hungry in twenty minutes."

"Oh," she said, eyeing the fruit dubiously. "Maybe I shouldn't eat it?"

"Depends." Chuck shrugged. "If you're Gifted, or you know you can eat again in twenty minutes, it's not a problem. Otherwise..." He shrugged again. "I'd go with the bacon."

"But I _am_ Gifted!" she exclaimed, beaming at him. "Problem solved!" She shoved a huge spoonful of the fruit into her mouth and closed her eyes. "This is _so_ good!" she said around the fruit. "It tastes like candy."

She looked far too cute like that, innocent and young and totally unspoiled by the harsh reality of life on Atlantis. Chuck cast his eyes down to his oatmeal, stabbing it with his spoon. It really wasn't a good idea for him to notice her like that.

Not when he knew he would never be able to touch her.

"You a nurse?" he said, more to distract himself from where his thoughts were going than out of real curiosity. He and Peter Grodin shared the job of being Dr. Weir's administrative assistant, and so he had read the roster of new personnel coming to the city before the _Daedalus_ had even left Earth. There had been only two medical people on the list, both nurses. She had to be one of them.

"How'd you…?" she started, then laughed. "Of course. The uniform. I keep forgetting I'm wearing it."

Her teeth were very white.

Chuck grimaced and grabbed his cup of coffee, focusing on its thick, bitter taste. Their mess was okay, but _Tim Horton's_ it wasn't.

He put his cup down and glanced back at her.

She was staring at his hands, her gaze sharp.

"You wear gloves," she said, looking up at him.

"Yeah," Chuck said.

"You're Gifted, too."

He felt his shoulders stiffen. "Yeah."

Her expression softened. "But you're not comfortable with your Gift."

Chuck leaned back in his chair, hands braced against the table edge. He could feel his heart speed up. "What makes you say that?"

"That's usually why Gifted people wear gloves," she said. "Because they don't feel good about their Gift."

"I like my Gift fine," he said. His mouth felt dry, and he took another sip of coffee.

"So, why do you wear the gloves?" she asked, leaning towards him, blue eyes pinning him with her gaze.

He dropped his eyes to his spoon, started fiddling with it. "Because I can't control my Gift," he said. "It doesn't turn off."

"Can't control it?" she repeated, sounding surprised. "But of course you can! It belongs to you, doesn't it?"

Chuck felt a slow burn of anger ignite deep in his gut. "There's lots of people who can't control their Gifts," he said slowly. "I happen to be one of them." He felt his stomach turn over and pushed his tray away. He hated talking about his Gift. _Hated_ it. It was the one thing that he hoped Atlantis would give him--the anonymity of being only one Gifted person among many. The ability to be known for what _he_ could do, and not what he could do with his Gift.

She had no right to ask him about it. None.

She tilted her head, considering him. "It's actually very rare for a Gifted person to be totally unable to control their Gift," she said, sounding like she was quoting from a text-book. "Like, almost all Gifts turn off when the person is asleep." She smiled and spooned up some more fruit. "It's usually just a question of getting the Gifted person to realize they actually _have_ control over their Gift. Pretty simple."

Chuck felt his eyes narrow, his anger flaring. "I think it's more complicated than that."

She shrugged. "Not really. Well, not from what I've seen in my research, that is."

"Well, I think you'll find very few people here on Atlantis will match your 'research,'" Chuck snarled. He grabbed his tray and stood, wanting to leave before he completely lost his temper and said something he'd regret. "See ya around."

"Wait!" She called after him. "I didn't mean…" He heard her voice trail off, but he didn't look back.

"You don't know a fucking thing about it," Chuck grit out between clenched teeth. He slammed his tray into the return rack with too much force, his uneaten oatmeal tipping onto its side.

Cute or not, Canadian or not, he wished he'd never invited the new girl to sit down.

And he didn't even know her name.

*

"Seriously Kate," Martine said mournfully, "I really think I blew it." She stood in front of Kate Heightmeyer's desk, the picture of dejection.

Kate sighed inwardly. Her protégé had been on Atlantis for less than two days, and already Kate was wondering if her decision to bring her to the Pegasus Galaxy had been a good one. Martine Fraser, Clinical Nurse Specialist in Gifted Psychology, came with an impressive resumé, and a Masters from a prestigious Canadian university--but almost no practical experience. And the fact she was painfully young didn't help either. Those two facts hadn't seemed important in light of Martine's ground-breaking research into techniques to teach people to control their 'uncontrollable' Gifts, an argument that Kate had used successfully with both Dr. Beckett and Dr. Weir. But now that she was face-to-face with Martine, she wasn't so sure.

"Well, I have to agree that I don't think you approached him in the right way," Kate said, picking her words carefully. Martine had already told her about the disastrous interaction she had had in the mess, with a soldier Kate had immediately identified as Sergeant Campbell, one of the most easy-going men Kate had ever met. Martine really had messed up if she had managed to make Chuck angry--and in such a short period of time.

"I've been working with Chuck for a while," Kate continued. "And he tends to hold things pretty close to his chest. It would have made him feel very uncomfortable for you to be asking him about his Gift like that, especially so soon after you met."

"I know," Martine sighed. "And I _should_ have known. It's not like me to totally blow a first meeting like that!" She threw herself down into the chair opposite Kate's desk. "But he was wearing _gloves!_ " she said, gesturing with her hands. "And it's _such_ an obvious sign of 'Gift-Discomfort-Syndrome!'" She sighed again, letting her hands drop to her lap. "I guess I got carried away."

"I can see how that could have happened," Kate said, making her voice gentle. "You're brand new here, and you want to be useful, to help the brave men and women who call Atlantis their home. Chuck and his gloves would have seemed like the perfect place to start. To prove that you belonged."

Martine's smile was wistful. "I really did just want to help him," she said softly. "And now he probably won't talk to me again."

Kate smiled. "Chuck's more resilient than that," she said. "He wouldn't be here if he wasn't. But he will be wary of you now, and you'll have to win his trust before he'll open up."

Martine looked up at her, and Kate hated to see how vulnerable she looked. "I really didn't mean to hurt him," she said. "It's just, those gloves are almost too sad to look at." She looked down at her hands again. "I feel so bad."

"Martine," Kate said, making her tone such that the young woman looked up at her immediately. "There's something you need to understand about the people who work here. They're very special, each and every one of them. And most of them have fought insurmountable odds to get here, both personal and professional, and it's a fight that they continue to carry out, every single day. They're not like the college kids you counseled at school, willing to trust you and open up merely because you had a nice office and a couple of degrees after your name. You'll have to go slowly here, get to know them. Build relationships first. _Real_ relationships, before you can develop a counseling one." She paused, holding Martine's gaze. "If you don't, if you continue to ambush them, the way you did Sergeant Campbell, they will eat you alive. Mark my words."

Martine swallowed visibly, her eyes too-shiny as she blinked. "I understand," she said in a near whisper. "I'll do better."

"I'm sure you will," Kate said, giving her one of her warmest smiles. "I know you're going to do wonderful things here, Martine," she said. "That's why I hired you. Just give them a chance to get to know you, and give yourself a chance to get to know _them_. There's no rush."

"Okay," Martine said. She smiled back at Kate, tenuous, but genuine. "I can do that."

"Great," Kate grinned. Time would tell if Martine _would_ be able to actually help the 'Lanteans, but at least she was willing to admit her mistakes, and hopefully learn from them. It seemed like a good start. "Now," Kate continued, lifting a stack of files she had previously placed on her desk. "These are the files of the people I counsel with what I would consider less-complicated issues. They're the people I'd like you to start working with. Dr. Garret Corrigan, for example, is dealing with the death of--"

" _Dr. Heightmeyer_." Dr. Beckett's voice sounded over her radio, cutting her off.

"Kate here," she replied, keying the earpiece.

" _I'm looking for you and your new assistant,_ " Dr. Beckett said, his Scottish accent making it sound like the ends were missing from the verb. " _Can you please bring her to the infirmary immediately. We're in need of her particular talent._ "

Kate felt her mouth form into a thin line. "We'll be there." She stood, gesturing at Martine, who was also standing, a look of panic chasing away the tears in her eyes. "Let's go."

*

It was the first time Martine had been in a hospital since she had finished nursing school.

She hung at the back of the infirmary, trying hard to stay out of the way of the medical personnel, and other staff members standing around the bed of the young woman who had apparently just materialized through the Gate.

Dr. Weir was there. Martine recognized her from their 'Official Welcome' from the day before. So was Colonel Sheppard, the military leader of Atlantis. He had seemed extremely casual and laid-back for a soldier when he had spoken to the new arrivals along with Dr. Weir, but now his military bearing was showing. He looked cold and hard and there was no trace of the easy-going joker she had seen yesterday.

She had also read that the Colonel was a Charmer, that rare type of Gifted person who could bend other people's will to their own. Being a specialist in Gifted talents, Martine prided herself on her open mind and her non-judgmental attitude towards those with Gifts--she was one, after all. But, if she were honest, the idea of his Gift made her a bit uncomfortable.

Kate had given Martine a stack of files detailing the talents of all the Gifted members of the Atlantis expedition the evening she had arrived, and Martine had stayed up late reading through them. There were many, many powerful Gifted people in the city, and for sure Colonel Sheppard was one of them.

Dr. Weir was another. She was a Receiving Empath, and her file said that she couldn't control her Gift. Even though Weir's expressions were well-schooled, Martine's trained eye could still tell that the tension in the room was taking its toll on her. It was the way she gripped her elbows so tightly with her hands, the tautness of the skin around her eyes. It made Martine's heart clench in sympathy, and she hoped that perhaps the techniques she had learned through her research would help Dr. Weir gain a bit of relief.

But then again, she might just totally blow it, just as she had done with Sergeant Campbell less than an hour before.

And speaking of the Sergeant…. Martine winced inwardly seeing him standing by the woman's bed. She wasn't sure why he was there, but he seemed to be having a debate with the Colonel about something--a debate that he appeared to be losing.

She took a few of what she hoped were invisible steps towards them, her natural curiosity getting the better of her. _Besides_ , she justified to herself, _how private a conversation could it be, considering half the medical staff is standing right beside them?_

Before she could even get close, she was intercepted.

"There you are, lass!" Dr. Beckett cried, taking her by the arm. "We've been waiting."

"Waiting?" Martine repeated, allowing herself to be pulled towards the medical bed by the doctor. "But I'm not--"

"I know you're not an acute-care nurse." Beckett interrupted. "I'm the one who signed your contract. It's your Gift that we've need of." He stopped, gesturing towards the still figure on the bed. "Or, at least, she does."

Martine looked down at the woman, feeling her breath catch in her chest.

"Someone was pretty rough with her, aye." Dr. Beckett said softly.

'Rough,' was an understatement.

The woman on the bed was small, delicate in stature and shorter than average in height. Her face was relaxed in unconsciousness, and that, combined with her size, made Martine feel as if she were looking at a child in the bed instead of an adult. The woman was beautiful, with high cheekbones and well-shaped features that made her look both fragile and feminine. Martine had overheard some of the other medical people talking about her while she was waiting, but even knowing what she had heard, it was hard for Martine to believe that this woman was not only a soldier, but a member of an elite special ops squadron before coming to Atlantis. Like Kate had said, the people here were special indeed.

But no matter her training, it hadn't saved her from being savaged while she was on the other planet. She had been beaten, and badly.

The woman's skin was naturally dark, showing her African heritage. Even so, it was obvious that she was now pale. In contrast to the grayish undertone of her skin, the area around her right eye was darkening with a livid bruise. Her cheek was similarly marked, and her bottom lip was split with a line of dried blood.

The imprint of fingertips was visible on her neck, and Martine shuddered.

"This is Sergeant Ayida L'Heureux," Dr. Beckett continued in his quiet tone. "But everyone calls her Happy. She came through the Gate about ten minutes ago, and crashed to the floor with a significant impact. I think the wee lass had teleported into the Event Horizon and then lost consciousness the second she rematerialized."

Martine turned towards the Doctor. "She's a Teleporter?"

"Aye," Dr. Beckett nodded at her. "And a powerful one at that. But I think her flight from her attackers must have overwhelmed her. Her blood sugar was near zero."

"That's not good," Martine said unnecessarily.

"Not good at all," Dr. Beckett agreed. "We've started her on D10W, and I'm hoping it will help bring her 'round. But I don't know if she's unconscious from her extreme hypoglycemia, or from her beating, and she's not yet stable enough to put her in the scanner." He looked Martine in the eye. "That's where you come in."

"Okay," Martine said. She took a step closer to the bed and picked up Happy's limp hand in both of her own. The skin was unnaturally cool, a pulse barely discernable where Martine's fingertips connected with her wrist. Martine tightened her grip, and closed her eyes. She concentrated, collecting her energy into her hands and then--

She sent it, racing like light, through her hands into Happy's, allowing it to flow up Happy's wrist, her arm, her shoulder, rushing like a river until Happy's body was filled with Martine's touch.

And then, like gazing into a clear pool of water, Martine could see everything.

"Her glucose level is improving," Martine said, because the sugar was glowing a comforting pink as it drifted through Happy's veins. She moved onward, expanding her energy. "The bruises on her face, neck and upper arms are superficial," she continued. "The lower ribs on her right side are bruised as well, but no breaks. Her left patella is cracked and the patellar ligament is torn, but only a bit. The kick that bruised her ribs also impacted her kidney, and there's bruising their as well." Dr. Beckett said something then, but it was indistinct to her, like he was standing in another room. Her focus was totally on Happy, pinpointing her injuries, listing them like a catalogue of disaster.

"Her skull is cracked," Martine said after a moment. The injury was glowing a hot red, visible like a brand behind her eyelids. "The right parietal bone, half way down. She's sustained a concussion, and the subdural matter has been torn. There's bleeding." She paused, searched. "That's all."

And unexpectedly, Martine was weaving on her feet, hands pressed to her forehead as a wave of dizziness overtook her.

"Easy, lass," Dr. Beckett crooned. He took her elbows in each hand and helped her sit in the chair that someone had put behind her. A tall, blond man, with shoulders the size of a small mountain was suddenly kneeling in front of her.

"Here," he said, voice coloured by an accent Martine's foggy brain couldn't quite place, "take these." Gently he took one of her hands away from her forehead and put three pale yellow glucose tablets into her palm.

"Thank you," she said, slipping the chalky pills into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, ignoring the medicinal taste, and focusing instead on how good the sugar felt, dissolving slowly over her tongue.

"Y'alright?" Dr. Beckett asked, hand on her shoulder.

Martine nodded. "I'm okay."

He smiled at her, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. "You did good." he said. He patted her shoulder. "Rest a bit, and then I'll have one of the lads escort you to your room."

"Okay," she said again. Right at that moment, sleep sounded really, really good.

But not, she realized, quite as interesting as the conversation still going on between the Colonel and Sergeant Campbell.

"We need to know what happened," Colonel Sheppard said. "Happy's the only one who made it back,"--He gestured at her still form--"and she's in no position to tell us who attacked them, or why. We need to get that information, Chuck. And we need it now."

"I understand, sir," Chuck said. He was standing straight, hands behind his back, legs shoulder-width apart, staring at a point somewhere over the Colonel's shoulder. He looked the picture of military discipline, only the tension around his eyes and the tight set of his mouth giving away his intense discomfort. "I'm just suggesting that we send in a MALP, for a more objective look at the planet."

"I've already arranged for Peter to send a MALP in, Chuck," Dr. Weir said. She had moved closer to the Sergeant, her voice gentle. It was obvious to Martine that she was reading something from the soldier, and whatever emotion he was feeling was causing Weir to want to intercede between him and Colonel Sheppard. "But it's not going to tell us what your Gift can. We need you to do this, Chuck. Please."

It was the 'please' that broke him. Martine watched as he took a deep breath, and nodded, clearly preparing himself for what was coming next. His brown eyes were huge, his mobile mouth turned down at the edges. He scrubbed his face violently with one hand, and moved closer to where Happy lay. The trembling in his fingers was so slight that Martine wasn't sure she actually saw it as he took off his gloves.

"Okay," he said, voice rough. He extended one palm. "I'm ready."

Dr. Beckett cleared his throat. "When we found her at the Gate, most of her clothing had obvious signs that it had been, ah, touched," Dr. Beckett said. He looked distinctly uncomfortable with having to share this information.

Colonel Sheppard crossed his arms at that statement. "There must be something those bastards didn't get their hands on," he said. He looked ready to kill.

Dr. Beckett shook his head. "No vest, no shirt, no dog tags. Even her bra had been cut--" He stopped abruptly as the Colonel let out a sound reminiscent of a growl.

Colonel Sheppard turned and looked at Chuck. "Sergeant?" he said, voice dangerously low. "Is there something here you can use?"

"Maybe her skin?" Chuck said, looking both wary and hopeful at the same time.

Dr. Beckett shook his head again. "No. She's been touched by so many members of my staff since we picked her up at the Gate, I'm afraid all you'll read is us."

Chuck turned to Colonel Sheppard. "I need something that only she's been in contact with." Only the sudden lightness around his too-expressive eyes indicated how relieved he felt at not having to perform what was clearly a dreaded task. "Sorry."

"How about this?" A young woman piped up as she walked over to the group. She was holding a plastic bag with a black sock in it. "I'm the one who took it off her," she said, coming up beside Chuck. "And I was wearing medical gloves when I did it. Will it work?"

"I don't know," Chuck said. He was staring at the sock. He was obviously trying hard not to show his distress, but it was clear in the depths of his eyes. "Usually I'm better with hard surfaces--"

"Thank you, Dr. Keller," Colonel Sheppard interrupted.  
"I'm sure it will be fine."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Chuck repeated, his voice a near whisper. He gestured at the bag with his chin. "Could you…?"

"What? Oh!" The young doctor said with a nervous laugh. She pulled the bag open.

"Thanks," Chuck said. He reached inside the bag and took the sock, pulled it out and clasped it loosely in his hand. He closed his eyes.

A moment passed, then two. The only sound in the room was the faint beeping of Happy's I.V. machine. It was so quiet, Martine was sure everyone could hear the sound of her heart pounding as she waited to see what would happen. She was scared for Chuck, almost terrified of what his Gift was going to do to him. She barely knew him, but his distress was palpable to her. She hoped he would be okay.

He wasn't.

Chuck cried out, a near scream as he pressed one hand over his eyes, gripping his temples, the sock falling from his other hand to the floor. He turned and fell to his knees, grabbing a garbage pail that was tucked beside an exam table and vomiting into it, gagging and retching like his stomach was going to come out his throat.

At the same second, Weir went pale, her knees buckling. The Colonel caught her before she went down.

Martine was on her feet, reaching for Chuck, while almost everyone in the room did the same for Chuck and Weir.

"Easy," Kate Heightmeyer said, taking Chuck's shoulders and guiding him to a sitting position on the floor.  
Martine had completely forgotten she was there, but was grateful to see her mentor with Chuck. He nodded and sat with his legs bent, head hanging. "You're okay," she was saying to him. "It's over."

Someone else brought Dr. Weir a chair and Colonel Sheppard helped her sit down with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. He knelt beside her as well, but seemed more at a loss of what to say. The guilt that flashed across his face was not lost on Martine, however. Whatever he had expected to happen when Chuck used his Gift, Dr. Weir's near collapse obviously wasn't it.

"Someone get them some glucose tablets, please!" Dr. Beckett yelled from his position on the other side of Happy's bed, and immediately, three medical personnel were by Dr. Weir and the Sergeant, pressing the pasty tablets into their hands. Dr. Keller brought Chuck some water and he drank it, throat moving convulsively, as if he were swallowing his tears along with the liquid.

It was one of the most awful things that Martine had ever seen.

She turned her gaze away, feeling somehow that watching him drink was even more an invasion of his privacy than her questions about his Gift had been earlier. Kate had said that the men and women of Atlantis were brave, and Martine had always thought she knew what that meant. The kids she had counseled at university were brave, trying hard to come to terms with being Gifted in a society that was accepting, but still wary of those who were different. Every day they had coped well with their powers had filled Martine with pride for them, and admiration of what they were accomplishing.

But up until this moment, she realized, she hadn't had a clue what bravery actually was.

Whatever had happened while Chuck had been using his Gift, the emotional toll it took on him must have been incredible. That was the only explanation as to why Dr. Weir had also nearly collapsed--She must have felt whatever he was feeling. And he must have known it was going to happen.

And yet, he had picked up the sock and done it anyway.

Martine felt her cheeks blaze with shame. She had said to him just that morning that it would be a simple thing for him to learn to control his Gift. She had been a complete fool.

It would be three weeks until the _Daedalus_ returned, she thought. She would apologize to Chuck, turn in her resignation to Kate, and then hide in her room until the ship came back. Leaving as soon as possible was probably the least she could do.

Dr. Beckett had taken control of the room again, and under his direction the huge blond man was now escorting Dr. Weir out of the infirmary. She was still rubbing her temple with one hand, but looked much less close to falling over than she had before.

Chuck was still sitting on the floor however, his head bent again, looking like he had received a physical beating along with the emotional one. Kate was still with him, kneeling by his side, one hand placed protectively on his shoulder as she looked up at Colonel Sheppard.

The Colonel was looking at Chuck.

"Did you get anything?" he asked. His tone, Martine noted, was much gentler than before.

"No," Chuck said, shaking his head. "I--no. Sorry. Nothing."

"You saw something, Chuck," Kate said soothingly. She was rubbing small circles on his shoulder as she knelt by him. "Can you tell us what it was?"

He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes beseeching. "I didn't see anything that was helpful," he said. "Honest."

"What about Stackhouse, and his team?" Colonel Sheppard asked. Now that Dr. Weir had left, Colonel Sheppard had moved to crouch by Chuck's other side. "Did you see where they were taken?"

Chuck closed his eyes, visibly steeled himself and opened them again. He still was only looking at Kate. "I think they're dead," he said softly. "Happy saw them die."

Someone gasped. Dr. Keller's hand flew to her mouth. The room became incredibly silent.

"Dead?" The Colonel asked, his voice sharp and loud in the near silence of the room. "Are you sure?" Chuck shook his head, staring at the floor. "Look at me!" Colonel Sheppard barked, and Chuck's head snapped up. " _Are you sure?_ "

"His Gift doesn't work like that." Kate cut in. "He can only tell you what Happy _felt_. His Gift doesn't give him exact information, only impressions. It could be that Happy only thought they died, John, but Chuck can't be sure."

Colonel Sheppard stood abruptly, back to them as he collected himself. He turned towards Dr. Beckett. "Can we wake her?"

"No!" Dr. Beckett's tone was adamant. "She's got a brain injury, son! She needs to heal more than answer your questions! Even if I did wake her, there's no telling what she might or might not remember."

The Colonel took a step towards the doctor. "They're her _teammates,_ Carson," he said, his tone cajoling and harsh at the same time. "She'd _want_ you to wake her up, so we can rescue them."

"It doesn't matter what she would or wouldn't want," Dr. Beckett snapped. "I'm not going to do it. As soon as Anders gets back from escorting Elizabeth, he's going to being healing her. Maybe when he's finished you can speak to her, but not before."

"That will take days!" Colonel Sheppard protested. "Like when McKay was injured. Markham, Corrigan, Stackhouse, they don't have that kind of time! We need to find them, and we need to find them now!"

"I'll do it," Chuck said. He pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on Kate.

"You don't need to do this, Chuck," she said, voice low. "I know how hard this is for you."

Chuck stood, gathered himself, and turned towards the Colonel. "I'll try again, sir."

"That's a nice offer, Sergeant," Colonel Sheppard said. "But Kate says you can't get specific information when you--" he waved his hand vaguely. "Do your thing."

Chuck swallowed, a small movement of his throat. "You could charm me, sir."

Colonel Sheppard looked completely taken aback. "What?"

"You could charm me," Chuck repeated. "Tell me my Gift's more specific than it is. Make me believe it."

Colonel Sheppard blinked, cocked his head to one side, blinked again. He looked at Kate. "Could I do that?"

"I really don't know," she replied, looking as amazed at Chuck's offer as Colonel Sheppard did "It would depend on whether or not Chuck's Gift has ever been that specific, in the past." The last statement was directed at Sergeant Campbell, and Martine suddenly realized that Kate knew a lot more about Chuck's Gift than she had mentioned in their brief conversation that morning. Kate had just made it obvious that Chuck's Gift had worked differently, once upon a time, but something had happened to change that. Something bad. No wonder he hated to be asked about it. Martine's shame squeezed tighter around her heart.

Chuck was shaking his head again. "No," he said to Kate. "No. My Gift never worked like that. Even--even before." He dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Damn!" The Colonel swore. He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. He turned back to Kate. "You know more about the Gifted people here than anyone. Is there _anyone_ on Atlantis who can do what Chuck can do, but find out specific information? Who would be able to pinpoint the location of Stackhouse's team? Like, could Corporal Conroy read her mind, or something?"

Kate shook her head. "Happy would have to be conscious for Albert to read her mind," she said. "I can't think of anyone who could do what you're suggesting."

"Can't Olivetti heal her?" Colonel Sheppard asked.

"He's out with Major Lorne's team," Dr. Beckett said. "You'd have to ask Peter when his next check-in is meant to be. But I'm sure it'll be hours before we can get him back."

"And we can't even use Corrigan to locate their life-signs because he's on the team we're missing," The Colonel muttered. He let out a breath in frustration. "All the Gifted people in the city, and we can't do _anything?_ "

"I think we can, John," Dr. Beckett said slowly. Martine turned to look at him, and was unnerved to find he was staring at her. "Call Corporal Conroy to the infirmary, please," he said to no-one in particular. "I've got an idea."

*

Corporal Conroy was going to link their brains.

At least, that was what Martine had understood from the conversation Kate, the Corporal, Dr. Beckett and the Colonel were having.

The Corporal (his first name was Albert, she had surmised from the conversation) didn't look like he even _had_ a Gift, let alone one that enabled him to read minds. He was tall and a bit gawky in his grey uniform, like he hadn't yet finished growing. And he looked painfully young. His hair was military-short and a light brown colour, his eyes the palest blue Martine had ever seen. His face was well-balanced, and he could even be called handsome, but not so good looking that you'd remember. In fact, everything about him seemed somewhat bland and forgettable, like someone you'd talk to in the line at the bank and then never recall the conversation.

But there was a steel to him, hidden beneath the mild demeanour. A fire and focus in his eyes that changed him from forgettable to interesting as soon as you met his gaze. He was, Martine realized, strangely sexy in that way, like there were more layers to him than you might otherwise notice. He'd be an appealing person to get to know.

But it was Chuck whom she wanted to look at.

The Sergeant wasn't paying attention to the conversation going on around him. He stood in the same formal position as before, elbows at ninety-degrees, hands behind his back, legs shoulder-width apart and those huge brown eyes focused somewhere in the distance. He was breathing deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, in a subtle attempt, Martine surmised, to calm himself down. Every once in a while, a tiny tremour would pass through his bottom lip.

He was, Martine realized, scared to death.

"All set then, lass?" Dr. Beckett said, looking at her.

"What?" Martine asked intelligently, pulling her eyes away from Chuck to focus on the doctor.

"For the link," Dr. Beckett said with obvious patience. "Albert is going to link your mind with Chuck's, which will give you the ability to use Chuck's Gift like you would your own. It should enable you to pinpoint the location of Danny and the others."

"I'll be in Chuck's mind?" Martine asked, aghast. The _last_ thing she wanted was to pry even more into this man's psyche. She darted a look at the Sergeant, but he was still staring across the room, not paying any attention at all.

"No," Colonel Sheppard said. "You'll both be in your own minds, just linked through Conroy's. I've done it before. It's not so bad. "

"It' won't hurt, Miss. Fraser." Albert said in his soft Southern accent. "As I was telling Sergeant Campbell here, it'll be just like the two of you are talking over the radio to each other, but better. You'll be able to use the Sergeant's Gift just like your own."

"Okay," Martine said, not sure it was okay at all. It sounded invasive and unpleasant, and like either Albert or Chuck--or maybe both--would be able to read her innermost secrets. She really didn't want to do this.

She stole another glance at Sergeant Campbell, and thought about how terrified he was, and how awful using his Gift must be, and yet, how he had immediately volunteered to do it again. And she knew she wasn't going to refuse. She swallowed.

"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," Albert said. "Although some people like to close their eyes."

*

It was feeling the men's hands on her that pulled her back to consciousness.

Happy's eyes flew open, her hands immediately going up and to her defense, striking away the groping fingers that were crawling all over her.

Her head was aching, and she could feel the itch of blood as it dried down the side of her head. Her side was sore too, with an ache she knew meant something was hurt deep inside. They must have struck as soon her team stepped through the Gate. They'd probably been waiting as soon as they saw the MALP come through the wormhole.

"Lâche moi!" she shouted, beginning to struggle in earnest against the two men pawing at her. Her vest, jacket and shirt had been removed while she was unconscious, but her bra and pants--Grâce à Dieu--were still intact.

But it was only a matter of time before they violated her completely.

One of the men laughed at her struggles, his breath puffing hotly into her face. His tangle of black hair nearly obscured his features, but not the ugly scar that ran jaggedly down his cheek.

Happy lashed out, hitting him squarely in his nose, feeling the cartilage crunch satisfyingly underneath her fist.

He reared back, roaring in pain. Blood spurting from between his fingers.

Before Happy could move, the other man backhanded her across the face. The impact took her across her right eye, sending her reeling. Before she could recover, he hit her a second time, and then a third. Her lip split. She tasted blood.

The first man grabbed her by her neck and hauled her to her feet, her toes barely scraping the floor.

"I'll kill you, bitch!" he shouted. Blood was flowing freely from his nose and over his mouth. He shook her like a rag doll, his fingers pressing ever tighter against her windpipe.

In a corner of the tent, she saw the rest of her team, and the image was worse than the sudden loss of air.

Danny was lying on his side, hands bound behind him. There was a deep gash on his cheek and blood was running freely down one side of his face. He groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering.

Jamie, Danny's second, was in a crumpled heap on the floor, silent and unmoving. The back of his head was dark with blood.

But worst of all was Garret. He was on his knees, hands tied tightly together behind his back, his eyes large and dark and full of anguish. The giant hand of one of their captors was clamped firmly on his shoulder, holding him in place. A purple bruise was blooming under the pale skin of his right cheek, visibly swelling where the fragile bone had been broken. His expression was one of total horror and complete despair as he looked at her.

Their gazes locked, and in that second, she knew he was going to do something very, very stupid.

"Don't!" She tried to shout at him, but it came out as an incomprehensible wheeze, taking too much precious air. She kicked at the man who was slowly strangling her, but her legs were too short, and his arm too long, and her legs just swung wildly beneath her, her left knee bursting in pain as it moved. She hadn't even realized it was injured. She tried to focus her mind to teleport, but it was hard to do more than concentrate on breathing.

And before she could do anything else, Garret moved.

 _"Let her go!_ he yelled, shaking off his captor's grasp and lurching to his feet. For a few seconds, surprise was with him and he was free. He ran at her attacker and hit him with his forehead, an impact hard enough that the man loosened his grip and Happy tumbled to the ground, sucking in the sweetest oxygen she had ever inhaled.

The man who had been strangling her whipped a knife out of his belt. He stabbed it, hilt deep into Garret's stomach.

Garret gasped, eyes wide from the shock and pain. A small line of blood slowly wound its way from his mouth to his chin.

And Happy was screaming and screaming--

*

Chuck was screaming.

Martine stood in horror in the tent, watching as Happy watched her teammate get stabbed--apparently to death.

She watched as Chuck lived it with Happy, like he couldn't tell where he ended and Happy began.

And he seemed to have no idea that Martine was sharing Happy's memory with him. It was as if she wasn't there at all.

Corporal Conroy had linked them in order for her to take control of Chuck's Gift, so that her ability to pinpoint injury and illness could be used instead to pinpoint the location of Happy's team. But right now, Martine wasn't controlling anything. It was like being on the world's worst roller-coaster, with no way of getting off.

She had no idea what to do, but she knew that she had to do _something._ If only to stop Chuck's gut-wrenching screaming.

"Chuck!" she shouted, reached out, and took his hand.

He pulled against her, eyes wide and wild and uncomprehending.

"Chuck!" she cried again, putting one hand on his cheek and turning his head to face her.

*

"Chuck!" someone shouted at him and grabbed his hand.

A woman was standing beside him, holding his hand in one of hers, her other hand on the side of his face, turning his head away from the nightmare in front of him, forcing him to look at her, to focus on her blue eyes.

Her name was Martine, he realized. She had arrived on the _Daedalus_. They were in the infirmary together, linked.

And suddenly, Chuck was _there_ , out of Happy's memory, standing in the tent. _Himself._

"Oh thank God," He moaned, crushing her to him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. He could feel himself shivering, tremours coursing through his body, the aftershocks of an emotional earthquake.

"It's alright Chuck," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You're okay now. You're okay."

"I--I thought it was me," he whispered. "I thought it was happening to me."

"It's not," she said. "It was never happening to you. You're just watching it, not living it. Just watching."

"I know," he said. "At least--I _used_ to know that. I forgot it, somehow." Another tremour ran through him, and he hugged her tighter, one hand going to the back of her head, tangling in her hair. She was his anchor now, his way of escaping Happy's suffering. If Martine was there, then it wasn't real. It _couldn't_ be real. He couldn't afford to let her go. He was still shaking, his heart pounding in his chest. _Garret was dead! They were all dead!_ kept shrieking through his brain.

"We have to find them, Chuck," Martine said. "You have to let me use your Gift."

"No!" he said. "No. No, you can't. You can't control it."

"We're just watching," she said again. "We're just watching, Chuck, just letting Happy tell us her story." He felt her slide her arms around his waist as she returned his embrace. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll do it together."

Chuck closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of being in someone's arms. It helped to ground him back into his own body, remind him of who he was. It had been a long time since he'd allowed anyone this close, for fear of them contacting his skin, for fear of reading them against his will.

"We'll do it together," she repeated.

She was so sure he could do this. He could feel it.

"Okay," Chuck whispered back, and looked up towards Happy's nightmare.

*

It was incredibly easy to pinpoint the tent after that.

"West!" Martine gasped as she came out of the link. "They're in a straight line from the Gate. Go West. They're in a big grey tent. Unguarded."

"Great," Colonel Sheppard said curtly, his attention clearly already on the rescue mission. He keyed his earpiece as he left the infirmary. "McKay, Teyla, Ronon," he said as he disappeared out the door. "You're with me."

"Well done, Martine." Dr. Beckett said. He was beside her, helping her onto a stretcher, easing her head down. The other doctor, Keller?--Martine couldn't really remember--was holding her feet, helping to lift them onto the bed. Her boots were removed first one, then the other.

"Your glucose is low," Dr. Beckett continued, and she felt him lift her wrist, and the cool press of an alcohol swab against her skin. "I'm going to start an I.V."

"Okay," she murmured, sinking into sleep.

Something occurred to her all at once, and she sat up, eyes flying open. "Chuck!"

"Watch the needle, lass!" Dr. Beckett cried, yanking his hand back. "Chuck's fine. He's fine. We've put him to bed right beside you." He shook his head. "There was some screaming for a while, but he seems right as rain now." He picked up her wrist again and reswabbed the back of her hand. Martine barely felt the pinch as Dr. Beckett started the I.V.

Martine looked over at the next bed. Chuck was lying there, his uniform jacket was off and his eyes were half closed. He raised one hand and let it collapse back down in a half-wave. He smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," Martine said. She returned his smile, sinking back down on the mattress. She kept looking at him: the tousle of auburn hair, those huge, deep brown eyes, his mouth, and the way he was smiling at her. She liked the way his neck curved into his shoulder, the leanness of his body. His strength. His courage.

She fell asleep, hoping she'd see him when she woke up.

*

Like a princess in a fairy tale, she was being kissed awake.

Happy smiled and slowly opened her eyes.

Garret was right beside her, leaning on her bed in the infirmary, chin resting on his clasped hands. His face was completely unmarred by any hint of bruising. "Hey beautiful."

She felt her smile grow wider even as the tears started trickling down the side of her face. She reached out and touched his cheek, and he immediately clasped her hand to him, leaning into her palm.

"I thought you were dead," Happy said, amazed at how calm her voice sounded. That except for her tears, she could be asking him about the weather.

Garret's smile widened. "Olivetti was on the rescue mission."

"Grâce à Dieu," Happy breathed.

"Danny and Jamie are fine, too," Garret said. "Danny's resting up in his quarters, and Jamie's still here, waiting for Anders to finish healing his skull." He chuckled. "I always knew he had a thick head, but I didn't know how hard." His smile faltered, faded. His eyes became shiny as he looked at her. He cleared his throat. "I--I kind of thought you were dead, too."

"Jamais," she said. "I would never leave you."

"Well, good," Garret said, voice rough. "Because I feel the same way."

They stayed like that for a while, quietly staring into each other's eyes, grinning foolishly.

Gently he moved her hand from his cheek and started wiping away her tears with his fingers. "Dr. Beckett says you should be out of here by the end of the day. He just wants to make sure Anders had fixed your head injury properly before he lets you go." His smile grew fainter again. "He said you were hurt pretty badly."

"I feel fine now," she said. "Just a bit tired."

"You should sleep," Garret said. "Get better."

"You'll stay?" she asked. Her eyes were already starting to close.

"Forever," he whispered.

She smiled as she fell asleep.

*

Martine had slept the entire day after the link. When she finally woke in the infirmary, it was late afternoon of the next day. Chuck's bed was already empty.

She had met Dr. Corrigan then. He was in the infirmary, watching Happy as she slept. He had thanked her for her part in his rescue. Remembering what she had read about his Gift, Martine asked him to locate the Sergeant. And seemingly effortlessly, he told her where Chuck was.

And just like Dr. Corrigan had said, she found Chuck on the balcony, watching the sun set over the endless ocean. Dr. Corrigan's Gift was exceptionally useful.

"It's really beautiful out here," Martine said, coming up beside Chuck. She put her hands on the railing beside his, close, but not touching. He was wearing his gloves.

"I like coming out here, sometimes," Chuck said, not looking at her. His gaze was focused far out on the horizon. "It's peaceful."

"Yes," Martine agreed. "And so much water! I'm not used to it."

He glanced at her then, a quick flick of his eyes before he looked back out over the water, but remained silent.

Martine sighed inwardly. She had hoped that being linked with him, sharing that horrendous experience, would have helped him feel more comfortable around her. Clearly her thoughtless comments the day they met were still colouring their relationship. Suddenly all the beauty was gone from the sunset before her. "The wind is chilly," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms, pretending she felt cold. "I should go in."

He took off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders in a movement so quick she didn't have time to react. It was still warm from his body.

Chuck was wearing a black t-shirt underneath, and the bare skin on his arms made him look suddenly vulnerable. He was still staring out at the ocean.

Martine took a quick breath. "Here," she said, making to remove his jacket. "I didn't mean to come out here and disturb your solitude, I'll go inside. Take your jacket, you'll be cold without it."

"I'm okay," he said. He turned to look at her again, a glance nearly as fleeting as before. "Stay. I'm not cold."

"All right," Martine said, and held the jacket tighter around her body. She faced straight ahead, trying to focus only on the sunset and not the man standing beside her. She wished she could break the silence that had sprung up between them, but she didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound either too intimate or too trite. What _was_ the right thing to say to someone you had just linked with the day before, after all? _How was it for you?_

"You're from Alberta, eh?" Chuck asked suddenly.

"Yes," Martine agreed, surprised. "How did you--"

He smiled at the ocean. "I read you, in the link," he said. "When you touched my face. It's also how I learned your name."

"Oh," she said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. _What else did he learn about me?_ she wondered. She felt abruptly bare before him, and drew the jacket closer around her shoulders.

"I'm from Shelburne, Nova Scotia, myself," Chuck said. "Lots of water."

Martine sighed, imagining a childhood spent by the sea. "It must have been beautiful."

He grimaced. "I hated it. It was so small and boring. I got out as soon as I could."

She turned to look at him. He was still staring at the ocean, but his expression had hardened, his gaze now looking inward.

"I joined the Canadian Armed Forces as soon as I finished high school," he continued. "The recruiter said that the infantry would get me the hell out of the Maritimes, so that's what I joined." He tapped the railing with one gloved finger, staring at the movement. "I don't regret it."

He had given her the perfect opening. She was still feeling awkward at the thought of what he might now know about her, but her desire to flee was now warring with her desire to learn all she could about him. She hugged her arms around herself, and took the opening he offered. "What _do_ you regret?"

"Rwanda," he said immediately. "I regret going to Rwanda."

Martine took a step closer and placed her hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid his bare skin. "You don't have to tell me this."

Chuck turned to look at her, his brown eyes intense. "No," he said. "I want to. Really."

She smiled, making her expression as open and accepting as she could. "Then I want to hear it."

"Okay." Chuck He huffed out a breath, then laughed a small, nervous laugh. "Geez, this is harder than I thought."

Martine just smiled at him, waiting.

"A year after I joined up, I got my Gift," Chuck started after a moment. He had turned back to look at the ocean again, and Martine focused on his profile, and how the orange light of sunset reflected in his deep brown eyes. "I was a 'late bloomer' with it, I guess. Just turned eighteen. They packed me off to the Gifted Trainer at the base, and he had just started my training when the Civil War in Rwanda broke out. My Regiment was being shipped out, to be part of the UN peacekeeping mission.

"Well, I wanted to go. It was my Regiment, after all, and most of my buddies from Basic Training were going. So I begged and pleaded with my Captain to let me go. He refused. I was still too young to qualify for a peacekeeping mission, and I still had to learn about my Gift. But I didn't want to take 'no' for an answer." Chuck smirked. "I was such a little pain in the ass."

"What happened?" Martine asked. She still had her hand on his shoulder, and now she let it slide down his back, to rest above his belt, still safely on his t-shirt. She hoped the contact was calming for him. At least he hadn't moved away.

"I eventually turned nineteen," Chuck said. "And even though I was like a dog with a bone, I was a damn good soldier, and Gifted, so of course they let me go. I joined my Regiment in August, 1994." He took in a deep breath. "The War had been over for about a month at that point. And my platoon was assigned to clean-up the mess."

She could feel the tension in his body, the tautness of the muscles under her palm. She began to rub circles on his lower back, as she had seen Kate do in the infirmary earlier the day before. "You don't have to tell me the rest."

"No," he said. "I--I need to do this. Really" He took another breath, while Martine held hers, waiting for him to speak

"There had been a massacre in a place called Kibuye." He said finally. "A priest had lured hundreds of Tutsis into his church, promising them sanctuary. Then he let in the Hutus to kill them."

Martine felt her throat grow tight. "All those people."

Chuck nodded. "We were sent there to bury the bodies." He fell silent, clearly lost in memory, his shoulders and arms almost vibrating with tension.

She waited, her only movement from her hand rubbing circles on Chuck's back. Hoping he would continue, but afraid of what he was going to say.

"My platoon Captain was a great guy," Chuck said finally. "But he had been there when the war had really started, and by the time I got there, he had seen things that no-one should ever have to deal with. It was really hard for him."

 _What did he do to you?_ Martine wanted to shout. But she just rubbed Chuck's back and kept waiting.

"He got really obsessed with making things right," Chuck continued. "He decided that he didn't want to just bury the bodies, he wanted to build a memorial. One with the name of every single one of the victims. He didn't want them to just become statistics, eh? He wanted them to be _real_." Chuck stopped speaking again, and took in a shuddering breath. His laugh was watery. "Wow, this is hard."

Martine slid her arm around Chuck's waist and tucked herself up against his side. She wanted to embrace him, to hold him as tightly as he had held her in the link. But he hadn't moved his hands off the railing, so that was as close as she could get. She was acting on instinct, hoping that her touch would be welcome, that it would help remind him that he was here, on Atlantis. An entire galaxy away from what had occurred. "I'm here," she said. "I'm listening."

"I learn stuff about people, when I touch their skin." Chuck said. "Stuff I don't usually get from objects." His voice grew so soft Martine had to strain to hear it. "Like with you, in the link. One of the things I learn is their names."

"Oh, no." Martine gasped as everything fell into place. Chuck's loss of control over his Gift. His fear of using it. His gloves. Everything. "He made you read them?"

"Over four-hundred and seventy-six corpses," Chuck said, nodding. "Until I collapsed from the strain and had to be evac'ed out."

Martine felt her eyes grow wet. "You were only nineteen years old."

"Yup," Chuck said.

Martine thought about Chuck in Rwanda. Reading the bodies at the grave site, the same story of fear and pain and death, over and over and over--

She let out a choked sob, feeling helpless and useless and terribly, terribly sad.

"Hey!" Chuck said. "Why are you crying? Don't cry!" He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face against his chest. He started rubbing her back, imitating the gesture that Martine had been doing just moments earlier. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I'm sorry!" Martine sobbed against his chest. "I'm so sorry! You were so young! And I said the stupidest things in the world to you yesterday, because I didn't know. I just didn't know. I'm sorry."

She felt him pull away from her, and looked up to see him staring down, his hands on her shoulders. His huge brown eyes meeting hers. "What?"

"Yesterday, at breakfast." Martine sniffed. "I told you getting control of your Gift would be simple. That it was just a question of realizing you had control." She felt her cheeks flame. "I didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I'm sorry."

"But you were right," Chuck said.

Martine started. It was the last thing she had expected him to say. "What?"

"Yesterday, in the link, you helped me control my Gift, for the first time in fourteen years," he said. "When you touched me, I _read_ you. And you were so _sure_ I could do it. That I could stop being overwhelmed by Happy's emotions, and just watch the images, instead of living them." He slid his gloved hands down her arms, resting on her elbows. "You saved me, back there. You."

"Oh," Martine said, amazed. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me that."

Chuck smiled. "You're welcome." He reached up his hands and held the side of her face, his eyes becoming intense. "And one day, when I can truly control my Gift again, I'm going to take off my gloves, hold you like this, and kiss you. I promise."

"Oh," she said again. Her heart flipped over in her chest.

"So I hope that you'll teach Dr. Heightmeyer about your research." Chuck grinned. "Because I don't want to wait that long."

It was like his face was made for happiness, Martine realized. He was _very_ good-looking when he smiled.

"Okay," she said. She grinned back. "I can do that."

They went inside together.

-Fin-

URLs of interest:

[Esprit de Corps Military Magazine](http://www.espritdecorps.ca/)  
[The Rwandan Civil War](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rwandan_Civil_War)  
[The Canadian Armed Forces in Rwanda](http://www.vac-acc.gc.ca/remembers/sub.cfm?source=history/canadianforces/factsheets/rwanda)  
[Timeline of Rwandan History](http://timelines.ws/countries/RWANDA.HTML)  
[Tim Horton's Coffee Store Chain](http://www.timhortons.com/en/about/index.html)


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